Author's note: For a prompt from Seven-lbs. Hope you enjoy!
Prompt: Douglas/Martin, WG with H/C. How about Martin's van job falls apart and he runs out of money. Douglas starts to notice that Martin's looking far thinner than usual, gets sick more often, etc. He invites him for dinner, the truth comes out... so, Douglas feeding Martin back to health (and then a bit more) while they fall for each other in the process :)
Douglas was performing the preflight checks when Martin announced his arrival on the flight deck with a particularly loud sneeze.
"Goodness," said Douglas, looking around at his captain, "Are you all right? That's got to be the third case of the sniffles this month."
"Yeah, musth be the students bringing all thethe viruthes home," said Martin miserably as he slumped down in his chair, "But don't worry. I'm okay to fly. Promithe."
Douglas clicked his tongue skeptically, eyes roving over the younger man. He was looking exceptionally pale behind his freckles and his uniform was hanging off of his shoulders worse than ever. He watched them shake briefly as Martin struggled to hold back a shiver. He had also taken to falling on the cheese tray with abandon and wolfing down his catering with a pace bordering on alarming. All those factors had added up to a rather concerned first officer.
"Martin," said Douglas, forgoing his usual tone in favor of a gentler one, "Are you sure you're quite all right? Perhaps you should take a day to rest up at home. I'm perfectly certified to fly GERT-I on my own. There's no shame in-"
"No!" said Martin as firmly as he could. He winced. "No, I'm fine, Douglath. Really. Thanks. But I want to fly. I need to-" He cut himself off with another sneeze. Douglas fished a tissue from the pocket pack he had stowed in his coat and the captain took it greatfully.
"Honestly, Martin. At this rate you'll just get me sick and Carolyn won't have anyone to fly the plane come Thursday," said Douglas reproachfully as Martin blew weakly into the tissue.
"I'm fine!" said Martin, drawing himself up, though the effect was rather spoiled by the new shivers that rustled through his frame, "I won't get you thick. We'll jutht keep theparate. It'th fine."
"Pity. I had hoped for a passionate round of snogging," said Douglas, his tone syrupy and dripping with sarcasm. Martin hiccuped, eyes wide, but then lapsed into laughter as Douglas chuckled. Soon, GERT-I was airborne, and Douglas was hatching a scheme to make sure Martin got some much needed rest. Well, happily enough there wasn't another flight for another few days, but the man still looked as though he needed a bit of food in him. Actually quite a lot.
"Martin, would you care to come over for dinner?" asked Douglas, once they were back in Fitton after a job somewhat well done.
Martin blinked and looked around, his pallor worst then ever. "Dinner?" he repeated as if he hadn't come across the word before, "Why-what for?"
"For eating," replied Douglas with a roll of his eyes. "Look, can't a man invite his captain over for dinner?"
"Um, I thupothe he can..." said Martin hesitantly. There was a gleam in his eye that looked decidedly hungry. Douglas clapped him on the shoulder and steered him out to his car.
"Well, come on then. Never turn down a free meal, mon capitain," said Douglas, smiling and unlocking the car so they could get in. Martin had smiled but seemed rather quiet during the drive to Douglas's abode.
Douglas then quickly set to work preparing a fast but filling meal of pasta in a tomato sauce. He sliced some fresh bread and basted it with garlic butter, then sprinkled cheese over it and set it to bake. Martin was huddled over a cup of hot tea at the counter. He looked almost stricken by the cooking food. Douglas caught the man's tongue creeping out to wet his lips now and again, though he decided not to tease him for it. Martin looked like he needed to eat a meal with a good appetite to make it as far as tomorrow.
At last, the food was plated and Douglas slid Martin his along with a glass of milk. He figured the captain could do with the nutrients. Martin's hands were positively shaking as he lifted up the fork and wrapped the long tendrils of pasta around the tines. Douglas brought his own plate over beside him at the bar and sat himself on one of the stools. Martin fortunately didn't seem to notice Douglas watching. The younger man's lips parted, flushed pink and wet with anticipation. Then they closed over the fork and Martin's eyes fluttered closed as he chewed reverently. He gave a soft sort of sigh, then Douglas heard the unmistakable sounds of a stomach growling for more. Martin flushed and looked up.
"Hungry?" asked Douglas, giving the man a reassuring smile, "As am I. I might even take a second portion." He chuckled and Martin looked positively relieved.
"Yeah me too," he said, then dove back into the pile of pasta to bring more to his lips, again and again until all that remained was a puddle of sauce, which Martin then quickly mopped up with a piece of garlic bread. Douglas felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He wondered if the van business was going poorly of late. Martin was clearly going hungry more often. Douglas finished off his own portion and then stood, taking Martin's plate before he could respond.
"A refill?" said the first officer, even as he loaded more pasta onto the plate. His own portion was slightly smaller, but Martin's seemed to have grown a bit when he brought them back and sat once more.
"Er, yeah. Thanks," said Martin, his congestion sounding just a bit better. He picked up his fork again and twirled it into his new portion. "Thank you, really, Douglas. This is the best thing I've eaten all week."
"You flatter me," said Douglas with an easy comfortable smile, then decided to press for it, "Just as long as this wasn't the only thing you've eaten all week."
"Oh, er. No of course not," said Martin, looking a bit uncomfortable, his leg started bouncing a bit, but he returned to his pasta, slurping up the long tendrils without looking at Douglas. The older man frowned slightly.
"Martin..." he began, but then decided a change of tactic was better. It wouldn't do well to make an ass out of himself and assume after all. He took a bite of the garlic bread and then a swallow of his water. "So, when is your next van job? Not tomorrow I hope."
"No, not tomorrow," said Martin, and there was an odd tightness to his throat. He stabbed his fork back into the pasta, then added hesitantly. "I-er, I don't actually have any all week. "
"Oh?" said Douglas, feeling concern growing but masking it until Martin next spoke, "Well a bit of a break can be nice now and again. It'll be like a little holiday."
"Yeah," replied Martin with what was only just barely a grin. Then the man sighed and his shoulders trembled. He bit his lip. Douglas sipped patiently at his water, waiting.
"I didn't see your van at the airfield this morning," murmured Douglas gently, though Martin visibly flinched regardless.
"No, well, it's in the shop," said Martin, rotating the fork in his hand, "I had to take the bus."
"Oh, sorry. Bit of maintenance? Or when will it be fixed?"
"I... I don't- I don't know."
"Martin, are you-"
"Yes, alright! I don't have the bloody van anymore!" Martin shouted, throwing his hands up, then babbling on, "Things were getting slow with Icarus Removals and I thought okay well it'll probably be fine! Business is just slow this time of year, it'll come round! But it didn't-just my luck-all my clients moved on to some professional business that can do things a hell of a lot faster than I can on my own so I had to sell the ruddy thing to pay my rent but I only got half of what I was asking for because it's just an old heap of rubbish. And now I...," he heaved a sigh and Douglas watched moisture gather in the man's eyes. He longed to take put his hand on the man's shoulder, but he held back. "I d-don't know what to do. I've only got just enough to get through next month's rent. I've tried to find other jobs, but they won't work round my schedule. MJN doesn't exactly stick to anything on the wall chart for long."
Douglas just looked at the man, fighting with himself. Well him and his ego. Those two had never quite gotten on. One part of him wanted to embrace the young captain before him, another wanted to keep him firmly under his suave womanizing Sky God reputation. Still. He'd grown fond of the man over the years trapped in a small flying metal tube with him.
He laid a warm palm on Martin's shoulder. The younger man jumped and looked up at Douglas in surprise, his eyes still red. He blinked and looked down again.
"Sorry, I shouldn't-ve" he began, but Douglas cut him off.
"Quite alright, mon capitain," rumbled Douglas, giving him what he hoped would be read as a companionable squeeze, even if something in the tenderness of it might have spoken of something more. "I think many have it on good authority that one needs to vent one's frustrations now and again. It's healthy."
Martin chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Er, yeah. Guess you're right," he mumbled.
Douglas tilted his head subtly, trying to catch the man's eye again.
"You know, if you needed-"
"No. Thanks, Douglas but no. I don't want you to... I shouldn't have said anything," said Martin, drawing himself up again. Douglas could almost feel a plexiglass bubble of pride inflate around him. He let his hand slide discretely off Martin's shoulder. Of course Martin's pride wouldn't accept help out of anything that could even remotely resemble pity. No, Douglas would have to move forward more stealthily.
"Dessert?" he offered, and Martin, with a relieved sort of sigh, nodded.
Martin awoke the next morning to the insistent buzzing of the door bell. He grumbled and looked at his watch. Surprisingly, it was just past noon. He slid a hand down to his middle where there was still the gentlest rise from the proper meal he'd enjoyed yesterday. The door bell buzzed again. "Coming!" Martin bellowed. Apparently all the students were still at that party they'd gone to last night. Maybe they'd locked themselves out. Grumbling, Martin drew on his thin robe and wandered down the stairs. He opened the door just as the bell buzzed again and felt his jaw slacken in surprise.
"Hello," said Douglas breezily, giving his captain a warm smile. "Thought I'd pop by and see if you were feeling better today."
"Oh, er, yeah. I am a bit, thanks," said Martin, suddenly very self conscious in the fact that under his robe he was only wearing his pants. In front of Douglas no less. "Er..."
"Oh, terribly sorry. Did I wake you?" asked Douglas, lifting the small pot he was holding, "I thought I'd bring you some chicken soup. It's really a quite lovely recipe." Martin couldn't quite keep a smile from forming when he observed that the first officer's hands were bedecked in oven mitts. He stepped aside, still smiling shyly.
"Er, thanks! It smells good. Might actually help clear my sinuses a bit," said Martin. Douglas carried his pot of soup in and set it carefully on the old wooden table set in the middle of the shared kitchen. He slid off the oven mitts and shifted the pot carefully onto them.
"Well, I'll be off then. Good afternoon. I'll see you Thursday," said Douglas brightly, striding back to the door.
"W-wait, what?" asked Martin, looking surprised, "Did you really come all this way just to bring me soup?"
"Yes. Well, and I have a few errands to run."
"But... why?"
"I'd like my captain to be healthy by next flight," replied Douglas innocently. Martin realized his mouth was open. He shut it and swallowed.
"Oh, well, thank you." He had been expecting Douglas to stay. Now he was feeling oddly disappointed. "You didn't have to, though. I'm fine-"
"I know you are. But I figured why not? Sir might be appreciative."
"I-I am... but-"
"And he may now owe me a bit of a favor in future." Douglas grinned.
Martin laughed. Just Douglas being Douglas then.
"Yeah alright. We'll see if your soup ends up being my magic cure," he said, smiling back, "See you Thursday."
Once Douglas had left, Martin lifted the lid off the pot. He was greeted by a cloud of steam that immediately made his mouth water. He fetched himself a spoon and began eating it right from the pot. God, it was amazing. The flavours sang together in perfect harmony and the vegetables were perfectly tender, the chicken savory, noodles filling and warm. If there was such a thing as a soup that cured all ills, this might well be it, thought Martin.
Thursday arrived and Douglas was pleased to see Martin looking better already. There was some life back in his eyes that no longer looked furtive and sunken. His skin had a healthier color to it, his hair more of a shine.
"It seems I have discovered the cure for the common cold after all. And you doubted me," said Douglas, with a warm smile as he entered the flightdeck.
Martin chuckled. "Yeah, okay. I owe you one. I might even have to pester you for your secret formula. I haven't had chicken soup that good since I moved out of my mum's house."
"Glad you enjoyed it. Let's see what miracles can be wraught from these, then shall we?" drawled Douglas smoothly. He pulled out a tupperware of the most amazing looking muffins Martin had ever seen. He immediately felt his mouth water.
"Banana and walnut with just a hint of cinnamon," said Douglas proudly, watching as Martin's tongue snuck out to wet those pink lips again. He handed the tupperware over. "All yours, mon capitain."
Martin seemed to hesitate for just a moment, before eagerly accepting it. Nearly a third of the dozen was gone by the time their flight was over.
Martin supposed that he should have protested. It was fairly clear what Douglas was doing after the first few times, but everything that came out of that man's kitchen tasted so mind-meltingly unbelievably good that he would have found it hard to resist even if he wasn't going hungry. So he accepted all of Douglas's gifts. Every flight it would be some new treat he'd baked, every so often he'd drop by with a pot or pan of some delectable delicacy that made all the students in the flat sniff the air hopefully. Douglas had even invited Martin over a few more times, but those he had declined. Somehow that felt far more intimate now than it had previously. Well the old phrase did say that the stomach was the key to a man's heart. And Douglas might have already wormed himself in there even before Martin had tasted his cooking.
When his last month of rent was almost up, Carolyn took him aside after a flight and handed him his first ever paycheck. He was stunned and glad, thanked her profusely, until he caught sight of Douglas smiling at him over her shoulder. He felt his heart sink. Now there would be no reason for Douglas to drop by with dishes or bring him goodies on the flight. That time was over. He felt immeasurably ungrateful, greedy even, for wanting them to continue. He thanked Carolyn again, then went to catch the bus home. Sure enough. Douglas didn't come to visit him all week. Martin bought his own groceries with the idea of maybe making something for Douglas to show the man how much he had appreciated his help... and well, him. Before the next flight, he tried his best to cook a meal that could be as good as one of Douglas's, but his luck never won out. He binned the muffins he'd burned and made himself a sandwich instead.
The morning of MJN's next flight dawned and Douglas pulled into the airfield. He yawned lightly and stepped out of his Lexus with a mind to ask Arthur to prepare the coffee early. He then wandered to the passenger side and stared at the now familiar tupperware container. He chewed his lower lip, then lifted it carefully under his arm. Perhaps he was being a bit forward, but he couldn't stand to think of waiting any longer. The past week had proven to him that he had irrevocably fallen in love with Martin Crieff over the month.
He arrived on the flight deck and spied Martin already sitting in the captain's chair. He wasn't checking his log book or doing any other of the usual captainy things he normally did, however. No, he was just staring off out the window at the breaking dawn, his hat perched atop his head and a small thoughtful frown on his brow. He looked positively endearing. Douglas swallowed and stepped inside
"Hello, mon capitain," he said moving over to take his seat. Martin jumped, clearly having been lost in thought and smiled.
"Hi, Douglas," returned Martin, wearing what Douglas couldn't term as anything except a fond smile. Ah. Douglas could afford to be brave.
"I wondered if you might be interested in trying my lemon bars," drawled the old sky god, popping the lid off the container and holding them out for Martin to see. Martin groaned enthusiastically and Douglas felt his heart swell.
"Yes, please!" A fine-fingered freckled hand dipped eagerly in for one of the confections. Plump cupid's bow lips caressed the tart yellow filling, brushed the powedered sugar on top. A lovely little voice hummed in appreciation.
"Mm, God those are good. I've really missed your cooking," said Martin, after he'd swallowed. Douglas watched the man nibble his lip.
"Glad you enjoy it," replied Douglas, his voice dipping near husky territory, "I find I've rather missed cooking for you. Meals for one are hardly ever worth much effort."
Martin huffed a small chuckle, then his eyes darted up to Douglas's again.
"Um, well... actually I was wondering if," Martin began, then broke off.
"If?"
Martin inhaled a long breath, but try as he might, he could only blush crimson. No words would come out.
"If you could have another?" prompted Douglas, figuring that wasn't the real cause of Martin's flush, but at least it might break the tension. He proffered the container. Martin took one gratefully and ate it slowly. Douglas took pity on the man and ventured to do the honors.
"Might I invite you over to mine for dinner once we land?" he asked.
Martin smiled, dipping his head before asking, "What for?"
"For eating," drawled Douglas.
"Hm, yeah. I'd like that."
"Good," said Douglas, then the next thing he knew, Martin was kissing him. Douglas, though taken aback, responded in kind, smiling at the tart taste of lemon in his captain's mouth. He felt fairly confident that tonight would only be the beginning.
Another month or so later, Douglas hadn't been proved wrong yet. Martin lay asleep in what was now most certainly their bedroom. The younger man was spending significantly less time in the drafty attic. He'd be moving out in just a couple of weeks. Martin's sleeping quarters wasn't the only thing that had changed since he and Douglas had gotten together. The face beneath the mussed up ginger curls was fuller, cheeks no longer gaunt, an endearing and healthy roundness replacing the pinched hollowed look. The skin glowed with health underneath the spattering of freckles. His limbs were thicker, spine and collar bones sliding under skin and soft flesh rather than poking out in rigid lines. His rib cage was still visible, but the individual ribs had disappeared under healthy weight. The man's hip bones were cushioned and topped off by the beginnings of what were slowly developing into inviting little love handles. Martin shifted in his sleep, drew in a long breath that caused his t-shirt to ruck up over a tender little belly that had gathered at the man's middle.
Martin shifted again as he heard footsteps entering the room. He groaned softly and stretched as he smelled something warm and sweet waft towards him. His face broke into a lazy smile as he opened his eyes to see his lovely first officer enter the room with a breakfast tray. Martin let out a soft giggle and turned over, running a hand down to his middle to rub at his exposed stomach. He felt so incredibly warm and happier than he could recall being for a long time, but God, was Douglas ever going to stop feeding him?
"Thought you might be hungry," said the man in question, stepping over and placing the tray carefully on the bedside table. Martin lifted himself up on one arm to see what the man had brought. Belgian waffles, perfectly golden brown and glistening with sweet syrup. A tuft of whipped cream and a strawberry placed in the center. A reminder of their activities last night. And Douglas claimed he wasn't sentimental. Martin chuckled again, but sat up a bit.
"Douglas, how could I possibly be hungry after last night?" he asked, "We must have eaten almost three cartons of strawberries and finished off over two cans of whipped cream, and the better part of a bottle of chocolate sauce. And I'm pretty sure I had the majority of it." He patted his belly again, delighting in how there was enough fleshy softness that he could actually grab a generous handful of it. It felt amazing, honestly. Like Douglas's care and affection deposited under his skin.
Douglas smiled and sat on the bed, leaning over to kiss his Martin gently.
"Come now," he murmured, "I've slaved over a hot waffle iron all morning, mon amour."
Martin chuckled, then sat up against the head board, crossing his arms on top of his tummy.
"Fine," he said, giving Douglas a sly grin, "But when my trousers won't close next flight, it will be your fault."
Douglas smirked and moved in for another kiss, his hand slipping down to caress the small amount of softness growing on the man's belly himself. He hummed appreciatively and reached for the waffles, cutting a bite to feed to Martin.
"Honestly, Martin my dear," he rumbled, "I wouldn't have it any other way."